A night time flight, perfect I am going to sleep. That is what I thought. Little did I know I was going to be welcomed by the screams of a woman handcuffed to the back of the aircraft. Screaming for a good 45 minutes “I don’t know where they are taking me”. It was unbearable, especially with 200+ Ghanaian passengers. I put my headphones in, sat down and waited for our delayed flight to depart as they escorted the woman off the plane. After fighting with these angry Ghanaians, the airline decided to take her off so that we can travel in peace. Turns out she had entered the country without a visa and they were taking her back.
As I sit on the plane by the window seat, the seat that I chose. I realise it was not the smartest idea to sit by a window when feeling sick. I keep getting up and waking up the man on the end of the row. Praying to God that he does not insult me.
Once I am a little bit settled, I try falling asleep to distract myself from the nausea and sharp piercing pain in my stomach. The man to my right is jotting down into a book. I’m being extremely nosy, breaking my neck to read what he’s writing into this journal. The pages have different headings ‘describe when you first met my mother’ is one of them. I get up again (probably the 3rd time now), as I get up he closes the book and on the front page is written “Dear Dad from me to you”. He has finished writing after about an hour or so. I couldn’t figure out whether he was writing to his Dad or to his children. So I asked him. That’s how it started.
My new companion, a father, from North London. He explained to me how he was writing about his memories as a father to gift to his children. Beautiful isn’t it? Sentimental gifts. I had a similar idea for my future child/children. A photo album, full of photos of their mum, just to remind them that their mum had the sauce back in the day. LOL just one of many crazy thoughts to myself. A journal sounds a lot better – Adventures of Afia? Because I’m going to do the most. God help me.
Anyway, after explaining, we drifted off into a very interesting conversation. No small talk, I can’t stand it – it’s tedious. I didn’t even catch his name until the end of the conversation. We spoke for around an hour and a half? He was returning back to London after a 3-month stay in Ghana. He was looking to move to Ghana and had been transitioning for 5 years. 5 years. This was my first trip to Ghana alone and I explained to him how I also want to move back to Ghana. I felt that I was in the right place at the right time. He walked me through the challenges that may arise when transitioning to Ghana. No word of a lie, I thought it would be a swift walk in the park. I didn’t really sit and think deeply about my choice. I still want to move…eventually but I am a little more aware of the challenges.
We spoke on different things; dreams, politics, and faith. I sat, I listened, it was refreshing to hear a new voice. A man’s voice to be precise. I have a lot of older female role models but the men are missing? Welp. Don’t get me wrong, I have male friends that inspire me but no older men that I know personally. It was just refreshing.
He spoke, I listened. I spoke he listened.
Then we said our goodnights and slept for the rest of the flight.